


Still, I Find You There (Next To Me)

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, M/M, Thor has issues too, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: Thor hasn't moved from his place at the kitchen table. He chances a look at him, his blue eyes are red rimmed but there are no tear-tracks down his cheeks.“Is this final?” he asks when Loki finally meets his eyes.“We'll see.” Loki grabs his keys and wallet from the little closet by the door. Toes on his sneakers.“At least tell me what I did this time.” Thor scoffs, ire barely held back.Loki's thin lips stretch in a sad little smile and his eyes don't meet Thor's again as he takes the two steps to the door. “I need time.” Is all he says before shutting the door behind him.The low thump it makes echoes something final in Thor's ears.





	Still, I Find You There (Next To Me)

Thor has got the feeling for a few days, now. It's instinctual by this point; an itch at the back of his neck that, no matter how much he scratches at, won't go away. He's taken in the signs. Loki, he– he's tight-lipped, easily irked. Restless and silent. His eyes are poisonous daggers, looking at Thor with barely contained ire. He jerks away from any touch, any gentle caress Thor might try to land. He's slippery, slithering his way out of Thor's arms whenever he goes for a hug. And everytime Thor asks what's wrong, what has him acting like that, he gets mocking snorts for replies.

He can't even imagine what the problem might be this time, what has caused Loki to act like this. He simply knows where this is heading to and he cannot stop it. No, he doesn't have the strength to even try this time.

In the beginning – when they first started going out, when they transitioned from begrudging colleagues to friends and then, finally, to the surprise of absolutely no one, to lovers – Thor had tried with everything he had to keep Loki happy, to keep his own temper in check. _To make this work!_ It had lasted for about four months before the problems started. Before jealousy poked its ugly head. Before Loki's quirks and perpetual sarcasm and caustic comments got on his nerves. Before the shouting matches started.

At this point, four years into this _thing_ they like to call 'relationship', they have spent as much time being apart as they have spent together – the together part never exceeding the sixth month mark and this time it's been three months since the last time they decided to try again.

So, when Thor gets home after his shift at the Police Station, he knows what's coming. He can feel it in the air, in his bones, in his stomach that cramps so bad it hurts.

He tosses his keys in the bowl they keep above the short shoe-case by the front door. Takes his time taking off his shoes and tucking them neatly beside Loki's. Then, he hangs his suit jacket on the hanger waiting over the little closet - a neat little trick Loki had come up with when Thor had first being promoted to Detective and kept forgetting to grab his suit jackets in the mornings when he rushed to get ready for work. He slowly takes off his gun and its holster, wrapping the soft leather around the case carefully before hiding it away on the top self of the little closet.

Their apartment is big enough for the two of them. A nice, small foyer opening up to the spacious living room at one side and the kitchen at the other, the rooms are separated by a kitchen island-slash-breakfast table and right ahead are three doors; the study, the bedroom and the bathroom. It's not much but it's cozy. It's perfect and theirs, and Thor loves it with all his heart.

He takes notice of the living room's arrangement and the dread inside him soars before he clenches his jaw. On the petrol blue corner-couch he can see new golden-threaded throws and pillows, there is no sight of the previous ones and the furniture have been moved so that the TV is between the two balcony doors instead of the wall leading to the hall. The couch's one side is now resting against it and Thor's eyes flit over the pictures hanging there, taking in the smiling faces greeting him for only a moment. The wall the TV table is now pushed up against has been painted to match the couch earlier in the day, the smell of the paint is still heavy in the room. The drapes are nowhere to be seen.

Thor looks around more carefully, trying to find any other changes. However, it’s of no real importance, even this small change isn’t a good sign – Loki only redecorates when he is _really_ mad about something.

It usually happens after losing a case or when he gets overwhelmed by whatever Thor did to anger him each time, and Thor. . . Thor is pretty sure this is the case tonight, seeing how Loki didn't have any trials to attend in more than a month now.

Thor takes a deep breath, and then another one, in a futile attempt to calm this inner storm wreaking havoc inside him. He can't hear Loki moving anywhere around in the house, nor the white noise that would be coming from a TV or the radio running on, forgotten.

The light in their study is off, the door ajar, same with the door leading to the bathroom, but the one to their bedroom is tightly shut, light spilling down the tiny crack above the floor.

“Babe?” He calls out in case Loki's engrossed in his phone and hasn't heard him coming in – he might be an attorney, but he knows how to use a gun even better than Thor himself and, no matter how this night might turn out, Thor doesn't want to find himself getting shot simply because he scared his fucking boyfriend. Thank you very much, but he will have to pass.

He taps on the door, waiting a bit before trying the handle and letting out a relieved sigh when it gives way easily. Loki is laying on their bed, over the covers, dozing off against the headboard. He is in sweats and a shirt that obviously belongs to Thor. His hair is done in a bun that has slightly come undone, thin tresses framing his face. A smudge of paint lies on the side of his nose and another one on the underside of his chin. There is a frown between his eyebrows even in sleep, lips gently parted as he snores lowly.

He is so beautiful it hurts, and Thor only wants to care for him. But he doesn't know how. No matter what he does they always end up at the same damned point. Caught inside this exhausting loop neither can come out of.

He grabs a change of clothes and heads for the shower, shutting the door gently behind him, wanting to get ready for the unavoidable that is to come when Loki wakes.

* * *

 

It's not always Loki and his crazy-ass high requirements that make this _thing_ fall apart. Thor is at fault as much as Loki is and he knows it. Loki knows it too and likes to remind it to Thor everytime they fight.

He's also the only person Thor knows that can hold a grudge better than a King can hold a crown.

* * *

It's close to an hour and a half when Loki emerges from the bedroom, barefooted and rubbing on his face tiredly and Thor, seeing him, gets up to plate the food that's kept warm in the oven.

“Hi,” Loki mumbles, filling a glass of water and swallowing it down. His eyes don't meet Thor's, don't seek them out. He doesn't go to wrap his arms around Thor's waist from behind as he usually does, doesn't rest his face against Thor's back nor does he leave soft grumbles against his neck that make Thor chuckle and shiver, dislodging Loki's hands so he can turn around and kiss him hello.

“Hey,” Thor replies in the same quiet tone. “I made lasagna. Are you hungry?”

Any other day Thor would ask him _how hungry are you?_ accompanied by a teasing smile, for Loki possesses the appetite of a glutton, but also the mind of a workaholic, meaning he usually forgets to eat during the day, enraptured by his work and the cases that kept filing in which made him swallow down food like a man starved when he returned home from a long work-day – after, he usually camps out on the couch, rubbing his bloated belly while grouching at Thor, making him laugh with his self-sarcastic comments. Not tonight, though.

Tonight Loki's mood calls for straight _yes_ or _no_ questions that won't require for him to speak more to his boyfriend than necessary.

“Mhm.” Loki hums, worrying on his bottom lip, no wonder ripping off the loose flesh that has come undone under his teeth's insistence.

Thor arranges two servings while Loki puts out a set of cutlery and a clean glass for Thor. They eat in a silence that feels stifling and heavy inside the little kitchen. The food tastes like sand in his mouth; every bite dry and difficult to chew and swallow, having to be helped down with gulps of water.

Loki doesn't comment on how many times Thor has to refill his glass from the pitcher, nor on how he finds the food Thor cooked for them. He doesn't ask Thor about his day, nor if he noticed the new arrangement of their living room. He doesn't spare a single glance at Thor, keeping quiet until he is a quarter done with his food and then starts playing around with the minced meat in his plate, obviously not having the appetite to even _try_ and eat half of it.

The atmosphere pushes down on Thor's lungs until he can barely breathe and has to break this stand-still they are caught in.

“Don't you like it?”

Loki's hand stays hovering over his plate, fork poised over the meat he is pushing around. His chest moves on an inhale, deflates on the exhale. His teeth start nibbling on his lip again, and he takes so long to reply that Thor thinks he won't. In the very least, it was an easily answered question - a simple yes or no is all he asks for.

“No, it's okay.” Loki finally murmurs, taking a demonstrative bite.

“I like what you did with the living room.” Thor says, trying further to gauge a reaction out of his boyfriend.

Loki shrugs, taking another bite, cursory at most. A sip of water. Another bite. Almost mechanical motions that don't match with Loki's usual attitude. Damn, he should be shouting his lungs out at Thor by now. And then– maybe then, they would be able to find a solution for this weird funk. Maybe this time they could come out unscathed.

Thor can't take this. This subdued side of him, this sadness permeating the air. The slope of Loki’s shoulders as they continue staying drooped, the slouch of his back. Loki has given up and the signs are clear to Thor, however, he doesn't know how _to fix it._

And it hurts. It hurts _so fucking much_.

“Damn it, Loki!” he growls under his breath, snapping his fork upon his plate. Creating a brief raucous that has Loki jumping lightly in his seat. Loki's eyes meet his for the first time in an entire day and Thor's breath gets caged in his chest by how somber and bitter his gaze is. And then, just like that, it's gone, hidden under a mask of mild apathy, taken away from Thor in the averting of those brilliant greens.

He buries his fingers through his short hair, tugging at the tresses until his scalp complains in pain. It anchors him, it helps him keep his temper under control.

“Loki, babe,” Thor pleads, “please talk to me.”

Loki stays silent. It's so much unlike him that Thor wants to shout, wants to grab Loki by the shoulders and shake him until he comes back to himself.

He doesn't, though.

Loki shakes his head after a while, gently putting down his fork and getting off the high chair.

Thor's hand darts out before he has time to think about it, but Loki, while he stops, doesn't turn to look at him. Keeps his back at Thor, only tilts his head to the side showing his sharp profile.

“Where are you going?” Thor asks in a whisper. His voice barely holds from breaking.

Loki gulps harshly. “I need some time to think. I'll be at my parents'.”

His arm is tugged out of Thor's slumping grip and he turns for their bedroom. Thor's eyes burn, but he won't let the tears gather and spill – not until Loki has left, at least.

* * *

They are two completely different people. Opposites with every meaning of the word.

Thor was brought up in a family of police officers, had always been expected to follow in his father's and his grandfather's footsteps. It was hard having had to live under his father's perpetual scrutiny and criticizing, but Thor had everything else come easy to him. Being who he is, he never really had to work hard to gain people's liking, he always had everyone at first smile. He was easily-loved and liked, looked up to from his peers and, later on, his colleagues. So, when he had first met Loki, the often ruthless assistant attorney, he had expected to win him over instantly; something that, in Thor's surprise, hadn't happened. In truth, Thor still believes Loki had absolutely hated his guts at first, only begrudgingly working with him whenever the case demanded to and only then. 

Thor was head-over-heels in love with him pretty soon after.

Loki, on the other hand, grew up in an orphanage, distrustful and lonely, letting only his self-proclaimed sister get close to him. They both were adopted when they were in their early teens and, from what Thor knows, Loki had been a terror to his adoptive parents – a problematic child, if you will – until a car accident brought him close enough to losing everything again and he realized that these people really meant to stay by his side no matter what, unprecendented in their love for him.

He still can't seem to realize that the same applies for Thor's love, too. No matter how much Thor has changed after they met, leaving behind his airheadedness and spoilt tendencies that had him somehow believing that the world owed to always be accepting and understanding. Maybe Thor has to accept that, no matter how much he tries to show Loki that he is loved and cared for, he will always fail. 

This would have never worked, anyway.

They should have known from the beginning.

* * *

Loki gathers a few clothes in a gym bag that he straps across his chest; a garment bag holding a couple of his suits over one shoulder, two fingers hooked through the hanger's loop and his briefcase held beside his thigh.

Thor hasn't moved from his place at the kitchen table. He chances a look at him, his blue eyes are red rimmed, but there are no tear-tracks down his cheeks.

“Is this final?” he asks when Loki finally meets his eyes.

“We'll see.” Loki grabs his keys and wallet from the little closet by the door. Toes on his sneakers.

“At least tell me what I did this time.” Thor scoffs, ire barely held back.

Loki's thin lips stretch in a sad little smile and his eyes don't meet Thor's again as he takes the two steps to the door. “I need time.” Is all he says before shutting the door behind him.

The low thump it makes echoes something final in Thor's ears.

“ _Damn it!_ ” The wood of the kitchen island splinters a little under his fist.

* * *

Thor has the next couple of days off-duty. He shows up anyway.

He can't stand being inside this house – _their_ _home_ – on his own. The walls feel suffocating, as if they are closing in on him. The smell from the paint still hasn't gone away no matter how long he has let the place air for. And the pictures on the wall feel as if they are mocking him, torturing him with memories of a happy past.

His fellow officers look at him strangely; some with worry, the ones that are in the know of Thor's on-and-off fling with the stern and sardonic attorney their Department works with look at him with pity, whispering behind open palms, a few glance at him with barely concealed spite. His partner, though, is the worst of all.

Brunhilde, his right hand and best friend since the Academy, stares at him in open disappointment, exceeds an air of _I-told-you-so_ that Thor tries to ignore with every fibre of his will or else it might end up in a brawl. It’s not something rare between them, seeing as their friendship has always been based on brutal, honest truth, no matter how much it might hurt the other – but still, he has promised to be better, _do_ better this year.

'Till now, it has all gone to shit, anyway.

“Not a word.” Thor grumbles at her when he comes in the first day and Brunhilde snaps her lips closed, taking in the state that he’s in – the dark smudges under his eyes, the tight frown on his lips, the lines etched between his eyebrows, the dullness of his eyes – and wisely chooses to not comment on any of that. Instead, she gets up and pushes her paper cup of coffee on his chest.

“Come on, Princess,” she commands, hiding any hint of sentiment from her voice, “we have a 10-57.”

It's a Saturday and it’s meant to be busy, the weekend is always the busiest for them, so Thor, while sending a quick prayer for the person missing to be alright, sighs in relief for not having to be holed up behind his desk, finding excuses as to why he burned his day-off and seekingfor company the paperwork he still needs to fill and his persistent thoughts.

He takes a sip of the too-sugary, too-milky coffee and blanches at the taste of it. Still, it's the thought that counts.

* * *

Thor gets home late one morning, half-dead on his feet after an impromptu graveyard shift he proffered to take on so that the desk officer could go home to her children and husband. Anything is better than coming back to an empty house with hours left to spare.

Loki would always grouch before Thor got the promotion a year ago. He absolutely hated staying alone at night in an apartment they were supposed to be sharing.

“ _You are working every day of the fucking week!”_ he'd shout every time they fought about it. “ _Do you have to work every night, too?”_ But Thor knew the more shifts he took on, the sooner he would get the promotion and _then_  be able to spend more time with Loki.

Thor scoffs at the thought, discarding his keys, gun and holster uncaringly. Throws his suit jacket on the back of the couch. Toes off his shoes on his way to the bedroom. He will clean up the mess later, probably after tossing and turning on the couch for sometime. When he will have hours to kill and sleep will be evading him still.

“ _If I am to spend all this time on my own, then I should have never moved in with you! What’s even the point if you aren’t here!_ _”_

Now, he understands Loki a little better than he did back then and why, in the end, it had led them to breaking up for sometime. It had been the longest they were apart in all of their shared history, too – Thor remembers vividly how badly he had missed Loki those five months. It was maybe the second time they were breaking things off, and it had hurt so fucking much even thinking about him that it had turned into something physical. Loki – as he had later confessed to Thor – had even tried changing Departments, had sweet-talked his higher ups for weeks to allocate him to another region- any other Department would do, dreading the time that he would undoubtedly run into Thor.

In the end, it was what had happened. They had run into each other, quite literally, one day when Loki was leaving after an interrogation that had dragged on for _hours_ and Thor was coming in to hand over a criminal. Thor had gone for broke when he had asked if he would like to grab a cup of coffee and catch up after filling in his statement of the arrest, unable to keep going on without trying to at least get him back in his life as a friend, if not more.

Thor thinks of that stilted _'coffee-date'_ as he takes a shower, letting the water wash away the sweat and grime from being on the move for more than twenty-four consecutive hours. He still remembers the carefully guarded expression Loki was sporting. However, in spite of all the awkwardness of the first half an hour, they soon had found themselves laughing and bitching over their respective colleagues. Loki was the same beautiful, snarky little thing he had fallen in love with more than two years before that moment, when they were gingerly picking up their way towards a cautious friendship. He had a slightly gaunt look about him, probably from forgetting to eat during the day. but Thor still wanted him like he ached and by the end of that date they couldn't keep their hands to themselves, anymore.

They had tried being casual for a while, before finding out just how much _‘not them’_ it was and officially falling back in the same cycle of getting together. Be happy and content for a while. Start fighting. Break up. Repeat.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Thor throws the side of his fist against the shower's tiles, tightly closing his eyes.

He knew this would happen again, dammit! He fucking knew it! So, why does he keep falling back into the same habits? Why can't he simply draw a red line over Loki's existence and _fucking go on?_ It has worked with all his previous relationships; why can't it work with this one, too?

A rumble starts from deep in his belly, a roar that rips through his throat, fueled by this hopeless anger he feels for how much he _loves_ Loki and how much he needs him in his life, even if he comes back to destroy him and leave him in shambles.

His fists hit against the slippery wall in a succession that tires him quickly, leaves him slapping his open palms half-heartedly on the tiles. His throat feels raw by the time he has calmed down enough to crack open his eyes. The water is running cold against his body now, and he stares without really focusing at the blood sluggishly painting the side of his hands, pinking and slithering down the shower and into the drain.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky a few hours later and Thor hasn't slept a wink yet, no matter how tired he is. He sits on the couch facing the TV and the bare glass doors leading to the balcony where the flowers and the herbs Loki so-loves, slowly wither away.

Thor thinks he should water them, maybe swipe off the fallen leaves from the balcony. Maybe try taking his already-cold coffee outside. The weather is good these days – something surprising for the middle of April – and his Captain has called, ordering him to take the next few days off.

“ _If I see even a single hair of yours in the office, I will put you in detention for a month! Are we clear, Odinson?”_ Thor thinks that Brunhilde and Steve might have something to do with it. But he isn't going to risk having to stay in limbo for more than necessary.

He is so tired. He isn't even sure if it's psychological or physiological; he cannot tell them apart, anymore. So, he stays seated where he is, looking without seeing as the TV plays on mute, broadcasting one stupid show or the other. He's not a daytime-TV guy, anyway. Neither of them has ever been, and perhaps this is the only thing he and Loki truly have in common. Nevertheless, he keeps his eyes glued on the TV, trying to ignore the assortment of photographs hanging on the wall at his right.

Most of them are from trips they have taken to the beach, some are from hiking on the surrounding mountains and a couple of them are from impromptu dates that had proved to be the most fun ones they had ever been on. One of them is Loki’s favourite; it was at a picnic date late last spring and inside the dark wooden frame is a picture of Thor sitting cross-legged on the grass, looking up at the camera, wearing khaki shorts and a black tank-top-plaid-shirt combo. The shirt is fluttering open around his torso and one of his hands is over his head, keeping the wide-lipped white beach-hat Loki had bought him as a gag gift secure against the comforting breeze.

Blond tresses that had escaped from the elastic’s hold at the back of his neck are caught on lips that are stretched in a grin and Thor remembers how Loki teased him after capturing the moment. How he slowly got on his knees in front of him and tugged at his still-long hair. _“You need a haircut, darling,”_ he had rumbled, leaving the camera on the side so he could wrap his arms around Thor’s neck, _“_ _perhaps then you w_ _ill_ _stop_ _tast_ _ing your own hair_ _.”_ By the end of their date, the hat had fallen victim to the wind and their lips were swollen and red from the kisses they had shared laid back on the grass.

Thor's favourite is that of Loki under an umbrella at the beach three years ago, smiling unabashedly at the lens, with sunglasses perched on top of his head. His nose is red from the sun and his freckles obvious on his cheeks, a book held open in his lap, and he looks happy and calm. Looks at Thor behind the camera with so much love it hurts to look at.

So, Thor tries not to look, to stop remembering. He keeps his eyes on the TV, on the inane gossip and ridiculous titles changing at the bottomline of the screen. He swallows hard, flinching from how sore his throat feels and leans in to gingerly hold his cup. The sides of his hands are pink and sensitive. Skin tight and burning with the barest of moves – he hasn't bandaged them yet, hasn't put any soothing ointment on them. It helps him take his mind away for the moment, gives him something to focus and propel him back from the melancholy that are his thoughts.

He has just leaned back again when he hears keys in the door. He half-waits to see Loki's sister coming in to gather up his things like she has done a few times before. He's so beat he cannot even be arsed to get up and get himself in decent condition for her – he's in pajama pants and a plain gray sweatshirt that brandishes the Station's acronyms. His short hair must be wild from the shower as he hasn't found the will to run a brush through it, yet.

Natasha will be furious again, at him mostly, but also at their idiocy – _“_ _I swear to God, it must be terminal as long as it has to do with the couple of you. So much idiocy gathered in one place can't be healthy._ _”_ she had bitched the last time they had gotten back together, rolling her eyes and moving away as if she couldn't stand being in their presence. As if they were truly contagious.

He doesn't turn to greet her, almost baring the cuff that's fated to land at the back of his head in her way to the living room. But the slap never comes. Her cologne doesn't permeate the room and her heels don't click in her furious staccato against the floor for having to do this _again_.

Instead, there's the familiar clung of keys falling beside his, shoes getting toed off and the click of a tongue that Thor will probably be able to hear in his next life, too, from how much he has heard it being made in this one.

Thor doesn't want to open up his eyes in case he has fallen asleep and this is all a dream – a way his mind has found to torture him anew.

“This place is like a pig's stall.”

Thor's eyes snap open as if on their own accord when he feels long fingers brushing momentarily through his hair. He looks stunned at Loki, following his form as it moves around the place, sorting out the mess Thor made earlier, avoiding his inquisitive look at all costs.

“It's not so bad.” Thor croaks, and honestly, it isn't. Because Thor had to keep busy somehow and tidying up after himself might not be much, but it helped a tiny bit.

Loki smirks lightly, going to put away Thor's suit jacket in their bedroom and coming back out.

 _The nerve of this guy is- it's_ _-_ _it's demented!_ Thor thinks as he watches Loki simply strutting in, three weeks after getting up and leaving, taking on chores as if nothing has ever happened.

"What are you doing?" he asks when Loki brings out a shopping bag and drags the coffee table to the balcony doors.

“Hanging the new drapes." The ‘ _obviously, dumbass’_ is left unsaid, but Thor can clearly hear it in his voice. He has heard him saying that too many times to not simply _know_.

Loki's voice holds something more, too. Thor isn't sure if he can call it apprehension or if sadness would be more fitting or, maybe, it's that which has chased after Thor the last weeks; a sense of dreadful foreboding, as if this is the last time - _really_ the last time. (He, in no way can let himself believe, even for a second, that it might be hope that he hears in Loki's tone. It will tear him at the seams if this is a lie, a figment of his imagination.)

"I can see that. . . But why?" he doesn't say ‘ _we've broken up, remember?_ _You couldn't even stand to stay long enough to explain’,_ because his heart hurts at the thought of it, a lump gets clogged in his throat everytime he tries to say those words.

Loki shrugs "Couldn't get them out of my head. Without them the new colour scheme isn't complete."

He avoids Thor's eyes, very studiously looping the hooks through the wooden bar.

And Thor. . . Thor chuckles in spite of himself and lets his head fall back, again. "You're incorrigible." he grumbles, no real fight behind it.

“But you love me anyway.” It’s not really a statement, it holds a question, barely audible, but it’s there, as if Loki doesn’t expect Thor to still love him like a burning star. And he can't bear that. Loki should never doubt the power with which Thor’s heart cares for him.

Thor lets his head roll to the side, he takes a minute to take Loki in, _really_ look at him before replying. Loki’s in dark ripped jeans and an emerald sweater that makes his skin glow, his hair is left free to caress against his shoulders. He must have been skipping on meals again - however, this time, Thor isn't in the right place to speak as he would be living off on instant coffee and doughnuts if it wasn't for Brunhilde and Steve looking out for him. His fingers are shaking slightly and if Thor wasn't trained to signs such as these he wouldn't have noticed.

The curtains are a blue so light they are almost white.

“I do.”

And it’s a statement. A confirmation so strong in and on itself that Loki should never doubt again.

* * *

In the end, Loki is the one taking proper care of Thor's hands. After throwing a fit about Thor being an adult and how he should have been taking better care of himself instead of taking on double shifts and getting himself in such a condition.

He doesn’t confess it to Thor yet, but he was the one contacting the Captain and demanding for him to give Thor a vacation, and it was Brunhilde who had called him a couple of days ago, letting him know of the lengths Thor would go to so he wouldn’t need to be home longer than necessary. She had threatened with bodily harm if he didn't get his head out of his ass soon. Thor laughs and rolls his eyes at this, leaning in to kiss the frown off of Loki's face as he fixes Thor up, kneeling on the floor before him.

His eyes are shining, and his lips are bitten off by how much he must have been worrying on them all these days, but they are smooth against Thor's and he tastes like nectar on his tongue.

“I can't take this anymore, Thor. I-” he leads one of Thor's hands to his face and kisses against his wrists – the only place that isn't covered in ointment and wrapped up in bandages. Thor's heart flutters to his throat. Dread coming back full force. “I love you way too much to keep torturing you like this.”

Thor cannot breathe. He watches as Loki rests his forehead against Thor’s fingers, holding his hands gently, almost reverently between both of his. His voice comes out airy when he finally speaks.“What do you mean, Loki?” It takes all he has to ask this.

Loki's loved greens open up to meet Thor's – decisive and powerful like they always are. If he speaks the words Thor cannot even bring himself to think, then this time it is _really_ over. There are no going-backs when Loki gets this look.

What Loki wants, Loki gets. Thor has learned that way back when they had just met and kept clashing heads.

“I decided to seek out help. I want to make this work.” He says with this look that has put people in jail for life – people ten times more powerful and dangerous than him. “I need to make this work.” he whispers and lets his head fall on Thor's lap.

Thor's shocked, stunned into silence – never seen this coming, no matter the hope that has taken hold in his heart like a vine full of thorns. He carefully starts running the tips of his fingers through Loki's hair and, after a while, he folds in the middle so he can spread over Loki's back, rest his hands in the small of his waist as he nuzzles the nape of his neck, taking in his familiar scent, the aroma of his shampoo.

His heart beats erratically against his ribcage and he smiles.

This is okay. Everything will be alright. They may both be a little crooked and a little damaged, churned at the edges, but they will make it. Because they have each other and they have their love and they _will make this work._

Thor is sure of that.

He kisses the tiny spot behind Loki's ear and whispers his consent.

“When do we start?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> They will make it work, guys!! T^T
> 
> Title is from [Next To Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-C_rvt0SwLE) by _Imagine Dragons_ and I totally blame Chris for comparing Loki to a persistent girlfriend and filling my head with images! 
> 
> I was aiming for something humorous and around 1K and obviously missed by a mile because Thor decided to be an angsty little shit!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this trip to my head between 12am and 7.30am~ Kudos and comments are love <3


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